Bring On the Rain
by Carfiniel
Summary: Songfic set after "One Last Breath" - Hermione endures long days of waiting while Ron is missing and everything seems to be going wrong.


**Bring on the Rain**

**(Hermione's Songfig)**

(Jo Dee Messina with Tim McGraw)  
(Billy Montana/Helen Darling)  
  
_Another day has almost come and gone  
Can't imagine what else could go wrong_

The problem with war is that it's so daily.  Ten long years of daily war has wearied us.  Of course we all knew it would be a protracted effort, and we prepared for that.  After all, I started researching for Professor--oops, General--Lupin from Sixth Year on, and Harry and Ron both received owls from their family members.  Well, technically I don't suppose Sirius would be considered Harry's family member, since he's only his god-parent, but still, I think in the ways that count, he is Harry's family.  The only family he has left, really, not counting us.

But I'm digressing, as Dumbledore would say.  Of course I enjoy the long hours of research, and I've become addicted (as much as I should be ashamed of myself for it) to the excitement of my duties as an Unspeakable.  But what makes me batty is the dailiness of the war.  I spent the first several years after leaving Hogwarts, doing research in the library at Godric's Hollow.  Since retreating to the mountains, I have spent so much of the past two years in my little shack behind Dun Famhair (it's Scottish for Giant Fortress -- after all, it was built by Scottish giants), sitting on my cot, staring at the rough wooden wall, watching the hours, the minutes, drag past, while I'm waiting for word.  Word from Dumbledore.  Word about Harry and Sirius, word about Ginny, word about General Lupin.  Word about Ron.

He's been on assignment for three weeks now, and we've heard nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  It makes me so nervous.

And just this morning as I walked past his shack, I noticed that part of the roof had collapsed.  Yesterday we discovered that the secondary well here has apparently dried up, though we hope that the water level is just low because the summer has been so dry.  Now Dobby tells me there won't be enough food to feed everyone through the end of the week.  I am so tired I could cry.

  
_Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door  
A single battle lost but not the war  
  
_

I know it doesn't help to ignore your problems.  I've always been the sort of girl who faces my problems head-on and tries to think my way through them.  The problem is, how can you think your way through a stone wall of ignorance?  Where is he?

Ages ago, before I went to Hogwarts, I read a book about a Canadian girl named Rilla, whose brothers and fiancé go off to fight in World War I.  That book touched me so deeply that two years ago, when the Battle of Diagon Alley was over and we were stabilizing the Alley again, I stopped in at Flourish and Blotts and asked them to get me a copy.  Rereading it, I underlined a passage in the book, because it is exactly how I feel now:  "It was one of the moments when hope and courage failed her utterly--when it seemed impossible to go on even one more day. If only they _knew..._you can face anything you _know. _But a beleaguerment of fear and doubt and suspense is a hard thing for the morale."

I know we're going to win this war.  We have to win.  But we've been pushed back into the mountains, and we've lost Professor McGonagall and Draco, and so many others.  Even our victories have been so incredibly costly that it breaks my heart again and again.

And now Ron is incommunicado.

It makes him laugh when I use military phrases.  He always says it sounds funny coming from a bookworm like me.  But then he always stops laughing and puts a hand on my cheek and says, "But it makes me sad, too, Mione, because bookworms shouldn't have to talk like soldiers."  And that always makes me cry, because I love him so desperately much, and he can be so tender underneath the tough-as-nails Unspeakable exterior.

  
_'Cause tomorrow's another day  
And I'm thirsty anyway  
So bring on the rain_

Growing up, I always wondered why I was sorted into Gryffindor.  Not that I ever wanted to be anything else, you understand, but I really _was_ a bookworm, and I really would have thought I belonged in Ravenclaw.  I know my friendship with Harry tested me again and again, making me prove my courage, but it wasn't until I went into the Real World and joined the fight against Voldemort, that I realized how strong I was.

_It's almost like the hard times circle 'round_

_A couple drops and they all start coming down_

At first we thought the war would be quick.  Of course we knew they'd been fighting since the end of our fourth year, but that was before they had us, Hogwarts' best and brightest.  Ah, the arrogance of youth.  We left school and came out with our heads held high, singing our anthem (which was nothing more than a revised version of the Hogwarts School Song, in point of fact) and ready to win the battles that would end with Voldemort defeated and the Phoenicians triumphant.

And then we started losing.

The Battle of Whitby Abbey, the Battle of Cauldside Burn, the Battle of Padstow, the Battle of Kirkstall Abbey, the Battle of Bury St. Edmunds.  The Battle of Stonehenge, in which the Death Eaters nearly succeeded in squashing Harry under a monolith.  All of a sudden the raindrops of defeat turned into a howling storm, and we were being swept away.  Draco finally managed to dam the flood at Diagon Alley.

Draco--the toil and sacrifice he brought to our cause is almost enough to make me believe there's a little good in everybody.  Almost.  But I think that goodness can be murdered, if someone tries hard enough.  I have trouble believing there was ever any good in Draco's father.

_Yeah, I might feel defeated,  
I might hang my head  
I might be barely breathing - but I'm not dead, no_

After Diagon Alley we had some breathing space.  We left Godric's Hollow in favour of Glen Famhair, where the giants were already constructing the dun.  The Death Eaters mostly left us alone, because they didn't know what to do for a while after losing Lucius.  For all that Peter Pettigrew is Voldemort's right-hand man, his general was the one in control.  No one could organize an attack against us for months.  Draco, after he recovered from the horror of killing his father, took advantage of that.

I argued with him, of course, and Ron shouted until he was blue in the face, but in the end it was agreed that we had to use guerilla tactics against them.  Draco knew all about that, from his Death Eater days (well, and just being a little git helps with the sneakiness factor), and he knew how to exploit the weaknesses of the Death Eaters.  After Draco made the decision, Ron stood by him, and they really became good mates, even though they argued all the time.  Well, I think Ron argues with people he likes more than he does his enemies.

There were times Ron would come back from a raid and knock on my door, and he'd come in and I'd just hold him.  I didn't like what he was becoming for Draco, but at the same time I knew he was doing it to protect me, to protect everyone.  I sort of resented Draco for what he was doing to Ron, but at the same time, Ron grew up a lot in the early years of the war.

_'Cause Tomorrow's another day  
And I'm thirsty anyway  
So bring on the rain  
  
_

Draco's death affected him terribly.  For a while I believed he had gone completely mad.  Then I revised my opinion to just temporarily mad.  Then I changed my mind again and decided he _had_ gone _slightly_ mad.  I'm still not sure.  Ron took over where Draco had left off, leading the regulars and the Unspeakables out on strike after strike, each one a little more audacious and frightening.  It was as though he had something to prove, though whether to himself or to me or to Draco, I don't know.

Ron's brilliant at strategy, of course.  I've always known how smart he is; it's just that he doesn't apply himself to anything but fun.  It shone through in his chess abilities, and once he connected his chess with the battlefield, he became almost unstoppable.  Oh, the battles were bloody--bloody and hard-fought--but we won.  And each night he came to me and held me tightly for a few minutes before kissing me good night and going to the little shack he and Harry shared with General Lupin and Sirius, when he was around.  One benefit of being a bookworm was getting my own shack, with two bookcases.  It's a small luxury, but it seems enormous in the world we now inhabit.

I knew he was grieving for Draco, in a way that Harry wouldn't allow himself to grieve, and in a very different way to Ginny's.  Harry knew Draco was gone, and he was sorry, but Auror Harry was calculating and businesslike; he'd become a lot harder since leaving school and watching people die.  Ginny--well, it was probably hardest for her, since she loved two men, and one had died and the other was so distant.  She didn't tell me much, didn't talk much at all to anyone, in fact, just suffered her sorrow in silence.  She eventually rose above it--oh, how she learned to shine!  We all still look to Ginny for warmth and comfort.  She's like her mother that way.

Ron's grief was...violent.  He hadn't expected to love Draco, and so he never acknowledged that he loved him, so when Draco died, he didn't know how to cope.  So he took up Draco's work, advanced to Draco's position in the Order, and killed Death Eaters.

  
_I'm not gonna let it get me down  
I'm not gonna cry  
And I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight  
  
_

General Lupin finally had a talk with Ron.  They went into Lupin's war chamber in the dun and stayed there for hours.  The war chamber is soundproofed magically, and guarded against eavesdropping, but I have always imagined that there was a lot of shouting that day.  I know there were tears.

Whatever he said, Ron came out a changed man.  He knocked on my door and when I saw his face I closed my books.  He sat down on the bed next to me and buried his face in his hands and said in a muffled voice, "I lost a brother, Mione.  I didn't realize I loved him until he was dying."

I nodded.  "I know."

"But I have my best friend left, and I have my _cariad_."  _Cariad_--he'd had to learn Welsh, to communicate with our staunch allies, the Pendragons.  _Cariad_ was Welsh for dear one, Welsh for _me_.  "I can't let you and Harry down."  He took his face out of his hands.  "I've scared you, haven't I?"

"A bit."

He nodded.  "I'm back.  I'm me again."

I nodded again and took his hand in mine.

And he kept his command, but from then on he planned the raids and let Seamus lead them, and Ron went back to his work as an Unspeakable.  Three weeks ago he came to me and said he had to be away for a bit, and he wanted me to be brave and take care of Harry and Ginny.  Almost the last thing he said to me was, "And be careful yourself.  I think I could lose the whole world and not care, Mione, if I knew you were living a normal life."

So every night I kneel by my bed and say my prayers and climb in bed, just like I always have.  I'm too proud to pull my sheets over my head, but I always lie awake for a while, listening to the camp, listening for Ron.  I know when he gets back, he'll come to me first.

  
'_Cause Tomorrow's another day  
And I am not afraid  
So bring on the rain  
  
_

And now another night is here, the seconds and minutes have crept by until the sun is sinking below the horizon, and another day has passed in which Ron didn't return.  Dobby brings me my supper, just a bit of stew and bread, and I thank him and he gives me a wan smile and says, "Hermee misses her Weezy.  Dobby misses him, too."  Then he leaves very quickly, which is a relief because suddenly I can't hold back my tears, and I have just enough presence of mind to put my meal down so I don't sog my bread.

And as I sit there, hands in my lap, tears trickling down my face, another knock comes at my door.  This knock is quiet, gentle, almost guilty.  I try to check my tears, then wonder why I have bothered trying to hide my misery when everyone in camp knows I am miserable.  The knock comes again and I stand up, swiping half-heartedly at my cheeks.  I open the door, and the light of the campfires is blocked by a tall figure.

I can't see his face against the firelight behind him.  I recognize his shoulders first.  I think I would recognize him if all I had to go on was a bit of an ankle.  He draws in a ragged breath and says hoarsely, "Mione?"

And I give a tremendous sob and throw myself in his arms.  He grunts as I collide with him, but his arms close around me, and he's holding me so tightly I can hardly breathe, and I just want him to hold me even more tightly.  "Ron!" I cry, and his face is near mine and I can smell the wonderful scent that is just _him_ mixed with sweat and dirt and blood.  He buries his face in my shoulder and holds me, like a man who has seen everything else swept away before him, but has one last rock to which he can cling.

I realize that he's saying something, and I try to quit crying--or at least cry more quietly.  When I do understand him, I think perhaps I'm dreaming.

"Marry me," he says.  "Tomorrow, with no more delays."

We've put off talking about it until after the war, but in this moment of sweet reunion and the terrible wonderful relief of seeing him and feeling him, I realize that all of our reasons for delay were stupid.

"Yes," I say.

  
'_Cause Tomorrow's another day  
And I'm thirsty anyway  
So bring on the rain_  
  
And as we stand outside my tiny shack in the middle of a fortress in the Scottish highlands, with enemies all around in the world outside, with the well going dry and his roof caving in and the supplies running low, and only a tiny moment of joy in a very long sorrow, the rain, so long awaited, so long hoped for, begins to fall again.

_Bring on the rain_

  
  



End file.
